The Kingdom of the Dead
by Blood.Stained.Fingers
Summary: It was wrong, he felt, not to struggle with it anymore. Having a heartbeat again after five hundred years was disconcerting; sharing his head with two halves of a personality was disconcerting, not craving blood after 500 years was disconcerting. It was almost a relief when he jerks awake on the cold hard floor and the familiar craving was there gnawing at his stomach.


**Disclaimer – I do not own Being Human.**

**A/N – Because my evil side couldn't stand them all being human and happy, sorry :(**

**The Kingdom of the Dead**

After the 'honeymoon period' so to speak passed in their new human lives Hal began to have doubts. It seemed too good to be true, all three of them sitting down with tea watching Antiques Roadshow and placing bets.

All three of them warm and thrumming with life…and happy.

…but then after a while, the doubts started to creep in, because Hal was brought up with the firm belief – if it seems too good to be true then it probably is.

But the full moon came and went and Tom remained as human as ever, spending the whole night marvelling at the full moon for the first time he could remember.

And Alex, who continued to eat and eat all the foods she had missed as a ghost, touch things to gain the sensation and finally talking to her family (if that hadn't been awkward.)

Everything slotted into place just a little too easily for Hal's liking and then once he had admitted _that_ to himself everything seemed out of place. The positioning of certain items in the household had changed after the Devil's attack; things that weren't caught in the crossfire of the fight in the living room were in different places. He noticed it more in his room, where the occasional book would be out of place or Leo's photo would have changed angle.

Hal would think all the time, notice little things that didn't add up, whilst Tom and Alex were oblivious to it all, too happy to be real human beings.

Alex was spending more and more time with her family and Tom spending more time with Allison, but Hal…who was Hal to hang around with when everyone he had known outside the household was dead?

So he worked, much like normal and ate just like normal and kept his opinions, fears and doubts to himself.

He spent hours looking at himself in the mirror, reacquainting himself with his face after all the years. Not that he had ever gotten a decent look at his reflection before he had become a vampire and afterwards…well it had been too late really. Water and windows had only given him a blurry and rippling image, so it was beyond interesting to finally study the face that should have been lost to the worms in the battle of Orsha.

It was also odd to be able to watch himself shave, a novelty which he hadn't grown tired of just yet. In fact, Tom and Alex began to tease him, calling him vain.

However, it was one morning, as he was shaving that he accidently cut himself (Tom had dropped something in another room, causing him to startle). He paused, freezing to the bone in an age old terror and looked at the shallow cut for a moment, as the blood welled for a second before meandering down his jaw.

Bright red beads trailed down and splattered onto the white porcelain of the sink and snaked their way towards the plug.

He felt no impulse to drink it, couldn't even smell it, he just watched the colour trail away under the flow of water. He slowly relaxed, uncoiling slowly as his heartbeat raced in his chest.

It was wrong, he felt, not to struggle with _it_ anymore, for blood just to be a part of his body and something that could be washed away perfectly easily.

Having a heartbeat again after five hundred years was disconcerting; sharing his head with two halves of a personality was disconcerting, not craving blood after 500 years was disconcerting.

It was too good to be true; he would often think when he would curl up on his side as he tried to sleep at night. Sometimes he would wake up, heart hammering into his ribs and he would cringe at the almost pain of the action, he had forgotten what his heart sounded like…felt like.

Every part of his rational-self objected to this gift they had received.

He hated how cynical he was, why couldn't he accept it?

…_because these kinds of curses were irreversible, that's why!_ A part would whisper to him, a part he had labelled 'bad' Hal.

Then one evening, he was stirring his cup of tea in the kitchen, when on an impulse that he couldn't explain, he picked up one of the knives on the (disorganised) draining board and placed it on the tip of his finger.

He hesitated, listening to the others as they laughed at something on the TV. They surely wouldn't notice? With a trembling hand, he pushed the blade lightly into the tip of his finger, splicing the flesh and causing a bead of blood to swell from it.

He hissed slightly at the pain, placing the knife down silently and bringing his bleeding finger closer to his face.

He sniffs at the blood. Nothing.

He lets the light catch it. Nothing.

He lets it run down his finger, the warmth leaving a glistening stain. He glances up at the closed the door, hearing the loud TV and then glances back at his bloodied finger.

He wants nothing to do with it… but this life is too good to be true. He has lived 500 years on blood and suddenly it is all gone.

It cannot be that simple.

Not matter how much he wanted rid of the curse, to suddenly be without it has wrong footed him, he doesn't know how to cope.

Hal only pauses for a moment, but he remembers how good it used to taste and how much he used to crave it. It used to be so warm, scratching an itch only _it _could reach…

He also remembers when he was a boy, scrapping his hands when he fell, and licking the little bit of blood away instead of smearing on the only items of clothing he owned. It should taste metallic, not unpleasant but not something he would want more off.

_That's how it should taste_.

So, if only so he can settle down and forget his suspicions, he pops the bloodied finger in his mouth.

For a second, there is only the brief metal like taste of blood, but then suddenly it's the best thing he has ever tasted, like his dreams and that past life.

He moans loudly, and he can feel himself flushing at the obnoxious sound he made as he tried to draw more blood from the wound.

The vampire is harder to supress than the devil might have thought.

"Hal?!" He hears Alex call, but then his eyes are rolling back in his head and he is falling, falling and the world is black.

It was almost a relief when he jerks awake on the cold hard floor of the burned out shell of the former B&B. He swallows against the roughness in his throat, his cold, aching chest is still and he clasps at it.

He looks around and brick dust that layers everything (including him, when he looks down). Tom (old and decrepit) and Alex (same as ever in her green dress) are lying on the floor, out cold, like they are sleeping, inhaling the thick dust with every breath.

How long has it been?! It had only been a few months in that other world…

Hal's tongue is dry and sticky, his throat burning from thirst, but not for blood, although the familiar craving was there gnawing at his stomach, but from the blistering heat and dry air.

He coughs loudly, clutching at his neck and lurches to his feet, disturbing the dust and making him cough even more. His eyes water and he stumbles about finally managing to stagger through the kitchen's broken and rotten doors.

He grasps the taps and turns them.

The pipes rattle and groan but nothing emerges from either tap.

He rips open the fridge door, nothing but rotten food.

He runs into the living room, ransacks the bar for anything, but all forms of liquid are gone.

He finally manages to burst out into the fresh air, coughing and unable to breathe, tripping over his own feet.

He spots a stray, scraggly cat, it yowls and hisses threateningly at him, but he is so thirsty and it's too slow. He hisses back at it and endures its sharp claws as he drains it off its rancid and infected blood. Gasping in relief at the soothing of his throat, but it's not enough; he is still thirsty and his throat is still sore.

He flings the cat's corpse into sunburnt bushes and long grasses as he walks down the pavement, eyeing crashed cars and the littered corpses.

Some have been baking under the sun for some time now and they smell, the flies laying their eggs in the wounds and maggots festering over the flesh.

Even though the smell turns his stomach, he finds the most recent dead, swiping away at the few flies that have landed on her. Her blood still has lingering warmth and she's not anywhere near decaying. She also has a bottle of water in her handbag, which Hal takes, he is so thirsty.

How long had he been lying on that floor?

Hal sees things that aren't human every now and then.

Demons and the like, his supernatural cousins.

They giggle and point at him, smiling with their old wrinkled faces in young children's bodies. They don't approach though; vampires were always considered the most volatile. Werewolves and ghosts came close in second and third and those three curses were the only ones who were independent from the Devil, not bound to his every whim, which is why they were needed for the ritual.

He watches them scurry away, and he fears who they are going to but he has his suspicions. However, he is too hungry to care, he has been on that floor for many years, that much is obvious, and he hasn't even had human substance never mind blood, nothing to run his half dead body.

A tall woman walks along beside him for a while, naked and only with thick auburn curly hair covering her. She is smiling hollowly as she holds a giant snake, he scoffs at the imagery and looks away.

Old Testament bullshit.

He finishes the water at some point, he continues to look for blood…there is very little; he imagines if there are humans left there are very few and not in as the Devil called it 'The kingdom of the Dead'.

No humans to feed from, and nothing to sate the thirst.

He finds another cat.

He forgoes his pride.

He can barely hear above his own slurping, but he catches the tension in the air and the demons' chattering excitement. Then, besides his own, the only other shoed feet in England tap the cracked concrete as the approach from behind him.

He continues to drink, determined to ignore him and finish his _shitty_ meal.

"Ah, my first children, they were always so arrogant," That posh, condescending voice began; Hal digs his teeth in further, the cat yowls in pain, "that is why I created the werewolf, you know? I needed to calm them down." He hears feet step closer to him, "But my first children were always the strongest, if only in will," A grey sleeved arm snaked around his neck suddenly. "Now, be a good boy and drop the cat." The arm is tight and Hal feels the air become thin, he'll die if he disobeys, but he is still so hungry…

His fingers slowly pry themselves out of the ragged fur and Hal remains stiff as a board as his half eaten meal slops onto the ground with a wet squelch. The grip loosens a little in reward, and he can breathe a little easier again.

"Now, Hal, it seems like you couldn't be a good boy and leave things alone, could you?" The Devil whispers in his ear and around them the demons all giggle…

Hal swallows wetly and starts to wonder, how does one defeat the devil on their own?

**A/N – I don't know, I just don't know where this came from, a part of me just had to spoil the happy ending of the series, but please let me know what you think in a review?**


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